


Crossing Paths

by bothromeoandjuliet



Series: There Is More Then You And Me [3]
Category: Gossip Girl, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Crossover, Dan Humphrey is Not Gossip Girl, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: He’s 29.He’s 29 and tired and washed up and he could really do with a haircut.He gets up, still half dressed from the night before, still tasting expensive whiskey on his tongue and someone else’s cheap cherry chapstick on his lips. He grimaces, you’re not supposed to wake up with last night's bad decisions coating your mouth. Not when you’re out of collage; not when you’re 29.(Or, Dan Humphrey's in a rut and doesn't know how to get out until he does.)





	Crossing Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I'm not sure where this came from, but the idea just wouldn't leave me alone!
> 
> Thanks for reading and comment to let me know what you thought! <3<3<3
> 
> -bothromeoandjuliet

He’s 29.

He’s 29 and tired and washed up and he could really do with a haircut.

He gets up, still half dressed from the night before, still tasting expensive whiskey on his tongue and someone else’s cheap cherry chapstick on his lips. He grimaces, you’re not supposed to wake up with last night's bad decisions coating your mouth. Not when you’re out of collage; not when you’re 29.

He goes to the living room after cleaning himself up. He half expects to find some woman, bleary-eyed and hungover, draped over his couch, but there isn’t, and he’s grateful. His phone is there though, beeping irritably at him, screaming at him to, ‘Get up, get moving, seize the day!’ or whatever bull-crap insta-message he’d set up for himself during his last self-guilt-trip.

There's voicemails when he opens the phone; five, ten, thirty voicemails, all from her. He wonders where she is now, where she spent the night. Not in the US he thinks, and he knows she’s nowhere near the East Coast. He wonders what her new boyfriend is like, wonders how long she’ll keep this one around for. Not long he guesses, and his guesses are usually right.

He listens to her voicemails, one by one, in the back of the car on the way to work, listens until she giggles out, “See you in the funny pages!”

People don’t join them together in their heads anymore; he doesn’t get looks in the street or paps following his movements everywhere he goes, but she still does. So many nights out, so many new, ever-changing men on her arm, she’s an easy target.

When she’d first started, after the separation, fingers had been pointed over her ‘strange’ new behavior; pointed at him specifically. Day after day, it would be a new headline all about he’d broken America’s Sweetheart’s heart, and night after night she’d call to warn him that she’d be seeing him in the funny pages.

Two years later and she still calls him.

He’s doing a signing today; at some back alley, fading away, bookshop. He may be washed up, but he reserves the right to choose his signing venues.

His agent wants him to get with the times, tells him that his stories would be perfect for a tv show; would fit perfectly in Netflix’s ‘book-to-series’ line-up next year. They’ve even offered to find him a co-writer, someone who could work with him on creating a brand new story—a script. He ignores those emails, and when they beg him to at least consider it he says he’ll try, even though he’d rather see them in hell first. His books may be dated and forgotten, but they’re his, and they’re going to stay that way.

There’s a big crowd, or maybe the store is just small, but introvert or not he enjoys meeting his readers. Some faces he recognizes; some who have been there from the beginning and others that seem to have no other mission in life then to meet him whenever possible, which he admits is a little disconcerting and yet can also be flattering at times.

After a while the crowds disperse and he takes the opportunity to swallow some lukewarm coffee and stretch out the muscles on his hand. He hasn’t done a signing in a few months and he’s out of practice, but the next minute the old door creaks open and in walks a boy.

At first he ignores him, he knows what his readers look like, some are young, high-school girls, others are women his mother age who bat their lashes and always seem to manage to find a way to show off their too low tops, but there are two things his readers never are; his age, or male. So to say that he’s shocked when the boy starts walking over to his table after glancing around, a copy of his book under his arm, is an understatement.

“Ahh…Hey.”

“Hey.”

He does his best to answer matter-of-factly, without a hint of curiosity or judgement. He’s been where this kid is now, in the past; knows how to read the signs of nerves in the bitting of the lip, in the anxious kick of on boot clad foot onto the other.

“You here to get that signed?” Motioning to the book which has yet to make it’s way out from under the boy’s leather draped arm.

“Oh, ah—Yeah, thanks.”

He takes the book without comment, only asking, “You want me to make this out to someone? Or should I leave it blank for resale?”

The boy’s eyes narrow, like he’s not sure whether or not he should be offended by the insinuation. He’s eyes really are blue, he hasn’t seen eyes that blue since—

“Well, if it was up to me I would say leave it blank, but this is for a friend, so—And it’s her copy anyway, I think she’d kill me if she found out that I’d sold it.”

“Ahh—I see how it is.” pulling the book towards him and opening it to the first black page. “Now tell me, what is this girl's name and what would you like me to say to her?”

“It’s Veronica—Veronica Lodge, I mean. And, as for the message, I sorta need a two in one. It’s for her birthday, but I was hoping that you could find a way to sneak an apology in there also.”

“An apology and a birthday present in one? Isn’t that the sort of situation you’d need two gifts for?”

“Oh, I have two. The first one is just gonna be how I get her to let me in. Honestly, I had to break into her dorm room while she was at class to get the book.”

“Breaking and entering, that is quite the desperation. And just who is it that I’m pleading for forgiveness for?”

“Jughead.”

Nodding, the pen shifting in his hand, ink skating across the page.

“Seems like this Veronica means a lot to you. She your girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend—with a very wide gap between the words. We knew in each other high-school, and now at NYU but—It’s complicated.”

“Complicated; but not impossible. Here you go Jughead,” handing the book back over to the boy, smirking at the way the boy’s face has flushed redder and redder as the conversation has continued.

And so with an jerky nod of thanks, the boy walks out, leaving him staring after him and the section of leather on his back that seems to be slightly darker then the rest of the jacket.

The boy’s face has given him an idea—a small kernel of a story. Just a glimpse, but it’s there, and suddenly it feels like it’s time to do something drastic.

So he takes his phone, deletes all of her messages and taps on his number two speed dial, praying that she hasn’t changed her number since he used it last.

Ring, ring, ring, connecting.

“What do you want, Humphrey?”

“I want to take you out to dinner tonight, Blair. You free for dinner?”

“Well, yes, I am, but that doesn’t mean—“

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Dan hangs up the call before Blair can protest, waiving his assistant over to tell him that he’s done for the day. Because he’s 29, and has a date tonight and he doesn’t have enough time left to waste it.


End file.
